


The One Where Niall Pops a Boner For Michael Bublé at Heathrow

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M, Semi-Public Sex, ot5 undertones - Freeform, technically Niall/Zayn(/Louis)?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-06
Updated: 2012-11-06
Packaged: 2017-11-18 03:28:10
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/556383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Vas happening <i>in your trousers,</i>” Zayn says, and Niall starts. He sort of wants to curl up in a tiny ball, right on the spot, melt into his trainers and not have deal with Zayn’s knowing gaze or customs or his dick, pressing up hard and hot in his sweats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The One Where Niall Pops a Boner For Michael Bublé at Heathrow

**Author's Note:**

> Because [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_md2lkgAF7V1rukiv1o1_500.jpg) happened, and also [this](http://25.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_md2rrcGTQM1qfvtzto1_500.png), which, _c'mon._ So handjobs!

“Vas happening,” Zayn whistles, grinning with his tongue tucked behind his teeth as he glances from Niall to Michael Bublé’s retreating figure. _Michael Bublé_. “Michael _Bublé_ ,” Niall says. “Jesus.”

“Vas happening _in your trousers,_ ” Zayn says, and Niall starts. He sort of wants to curl up in a tiny ball, right on the spot, melt into his trainers and not have deal with Zayn’s knowing gaze or customs or his dick, pressing up hard and hot in his sweats.

Rolling his eyes, Zayn hands Niall his jacket, still warm from how he’s worn it all morning, and Niall covers his crotch with it instinctively, hands balling up in the material. “I,” he starts, and then shakes his head. “Jesus.” 

“Got twenty, if you need’ta run t’the loo,” Zayn shrugs, and Niall doesn’t think he could _run_ anywhere, but the loo sounds great, the loo sounds _awesome_ , hell, anywhere he can just stuff his hands down his fucking pants sounds _the best_ right now.

So he thinks _fuck it_ , tugs his backpack straps a little and turns to poor, unassuming Liam. “If Paul asks we’re in the loo,” he says, wraps a hand around Zayn’s wrist and tugs him away. Liam looks a little perplexed, brows furrowed, but then Louis is poking at his sides and next thing he knows Zayn and Niall are gone, and so that’s that.

Niall walks with as much purpose as he would if they were headed to an ice cream parlor, which would be right about as gratifying as Zayn’s low, raspy chuckle as they wait for the man washing his hands to step out so they can both cram into a stall at the far back.

Zayn pushes the strap of Niall’s back pack off one shoulder quickly, causing Niall to fumble his jacket. It drops to the floor between them, and Zayn huffs but doesn’t comment, just pulls Niall’s other arm out of the second strap, snags the backpack unevenly over the hook on the stall door and pushes his jacket through a strap. Niall’s brain woozily wonders how he can be so efficient, it’s entirely too impressive and way beyond his own abilities at the moment. 

And Niall doesn’t know when he put his hand down his pants, but it’s there now, and Zayn looks amused and a little smug when Niall drags his eyes up to his. “I,” Niall tries, and shrugs.

“Greedy,” Zayn says, and tucks his fingers into the elastic of Niall’s sweats. “Surprised you didn’t nut off when he put his arm around you, t’be honest.”

“Hilarious, mate,” Niall grunts, thrusts his hips at Zayn rather aggressively. He’s not playing around, and he’d really rather not get yelled at by Paul today, particularly in public. It’s embarrassing. “Y’gonna watch or touch me, then?”

“Bet you’d be polite if it were ‘im,” Zayn says, eyebrows raised a little, and it’s a joke, or Niall hopes it’s a joke, but it’s not- Zayn’s voice dips like it’s _not_ , and that makes Niall’s stomach dip, too.

Then there’s the sound of someone’s footsteps, a faucet coming on, and oh, right, _public toilets._ Zayn holds his finger up to his lips and then wraps his hand around Niall like it’s the most logical next step when there’s someone who could hear them a few yards away.

To Niall’s advantage, the hand dryer comes on just as he lets out a low groan. Zayn muffles his laugh into Niall’s shoulder, gasping rather embarrassingly, but Niall doesn’t have the mental capacity to tease him for it now.

They both stay frozen as the steps recede and the door closes, a slow drag of hinges, and then Zayn laughs again, breath hot against Niall’s neck, and twists his wrist.

“Y’can’t gimme shit for being done too fast,” Niall warns, not even bothering with keeping his hips still, thrusting into Zayn’s fist. “It’s in our best interests an’ shit.”

“Gotta keep quiet, though,” Zayn reminds him, thumbs at the head of Niall’s prick before pulling his hand out. Before Niall can object he spits in his palm, uses his other hand to tug Niall’s sweats down a bit, and wraps his hand around Niall again, slicks him up as best as he can and sets a quick rhythm.

Niall makes a face at him, something between _duh_ and _fuck off_ , but he can’t keep it up for long because Zayn has him pinned against the stall and his fist is hot and it’s all a bit dry for Niall’s taste but it’s still _good_ , still what he needs. 

The bathroom door opens again and Niall squeezes his eyes shut, frustrated, the scuffing of shoes on tiles heading off the warmth that’s been pooling in his stomach, making him squirm.

This time, the steps come closer, and Zayn reaches up to press his other palm over Niall’s mouth briefly as another stall door slams. The walls go down pretty low, but the bathroom still echoes and Zayn presses his face to Niall’s neck, “don’t fuckin’ come, Niall, don’t you dare.”

Niall hangs his head, and Zayn’s shoulder is _there_ \- he can’t be blamed for biting over his t-shirt to muffle his sounds, exhaling hotly and leaving wet marks under his teeth. Zayn’s still stroking him, though, all hot skin tightening around the head and twisting along the shaft, achingly slow.

It feels like forever until they finally hear the toilet flush, and Niall is kind of thankful the guy’s a pig and forgoes washing his hands.

Zayn is chuckling into Niall’s shoulder, now, sandwiching him against the partition wall and he’s nudged his knee between Niall’s, is nearly suffocating him with contact. It’s a _relief_ , something that Niall can melt into now that they’re alone again, and he thinks, distantly, about the time, but it’s not worth worrying over. 

“D’you think-” Zayn begins, looks around for a moment before deciding he _could_. “Nialler, watch your knees, yeah?” He asks, all too politely, and then somehow folds himself down, knees hitting the tiled floor. Niall doesn’t have time to process what’s happening before Zayn directs the head of Niall’s cock into his mouth with a hand tight around the base, and then it takes a massive effort to keep his knees in check as directed, not to bang his head against the wall.

Zayn hums around the head and swirls his tongue, and Niall thinks of earlier when Louis had tossed Zayn a lolly and Zayn had grinned, wicked, and he _can’t_ look down because he knows Zayn will be making the same face now, and Niall suddenly doesn’t _want_ it to be over fast, fuck boarding and fuck schedules and _fuck_. Zayn’s mouth.

Pulling off with the tiniest of wet noises, Zayn glances up at Niall, “okay?” Niall’s hands are fisted in his sweats and he’s not looking at Zayn, and Zayn bobs his hand gently over the length of him, wondering if he’s overstepped. 

“Please don’t stop,” Niall begs, chances petting at the side of Zayn’s head, clear of his quiff. This isn’t even about Michael Bublé anymore, really, long forgotten in favor of Zayn’s pretty lashes and scruffy cheeks, his shiny lips so close to the red tip of Niall’s cock. “C’mon, Zayn, we’ve gotta- I need.”

Zayn doesn’t need to ask again, just licks his lips and laps at the head of Niall’s dick, tongue sliding against the slit and down, pressing just under the crown before he closes his mouth around him. He’s humming something that reverberates through Niall’s spine and sounds vaguely familiar- and Niall doesn’t know whether to laugh or sob when he recognizes _c’mon, c’mon_ \- and Zayn squeezes at his side with his free hand, leaning forward, letting Niall buck up into his mouth.

The heady warmth in Niall’s lower belly only grows, and he thrusts into Zayn’s mouth with only a hand at his hip stopping him from pushing too far, gagging Zayn. He wants to scream when he hears the door open yet again, but this time a familiarly raspy voice trails in, too, sweet and unmistakable. “Niall? Zayn, mate, Paul’s gonna throw a fit and Liam said you two were here,” Louis chirps, and Niall’s done for with the look Zayn gives him through his lashes, the sound of Louis’ approaching footsteps. He curls over Zayn when he comes, hands in the short, soft hair on either side of Zayn’s temples, dizzy and reeling.

“Yeah,” Zayn murmurs, pulling away with a wet sound, his throat constricting as he swallows to clear it, and then repeats louder, “Yeah, coming, Lou, hang on a minute.”

Niall’s hands are clumsy, one petting Zayn’s stubbly cheek and the other pulling his sweats back up lopsidedly, but he can’t help beaming down at Zayn, sticking his tongue out. Zayn manages to get to his feet without banging his head on the toilet roll dispenser, which is definitely a win, and hands Niall his backpack, draping his jacket over his forearm. He wipes at the corners of his mouth, facing Niall for the sake of, hopefully, being told if he’s got any incriminating stains anywhere else, licks the pad of his thumb and then turns, slides the lock open and steps out.

Niall slumps against the partition for another second as Louis says, “Well _somebody_ was,” and Zayn laughs roughly, and then Louis is stepping to the open stall door and tugging at his elbow, “Ready or not, c’mon then.” 

Zayn is washing his hands at the sink, and Niall clumsily moves forward to do the same, not meeting Louis’ eyes in the mirror. And they shuffle out the door, Louis poking at Zayn and Zayn prodding Louis, and Niall feels itchy and red-hot but _tired_ , too, and it’s not until Zayn loops an arm around his shoulder that he realizes he’s veered off course. “Y’can nap on the plane,” Zayn says, fondly. “Rockstar.”


End file.
